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    Vera, Or The Nihilists – monologue from the play by Oscar Wilde Essay

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    A monologue from the play by Oscar Wilde

    NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from Vera, or The Nihilists. Oscar Wilde. Privately Printed, 1902.

    CZAR: Vera, the Nihilist in Moscow! O God, were it not better to die at once the dog’s death they plot for me than to live as I live now! Never to sleep, or, if I do, to dream such horrid dreams that hell itself were peace when matched with them. To trust none but those I have bought, to buy none worth trusting! To see a traitor in every smile, poison in every dish, a dagger in every hand! To lie awake at night, listening from hour to hour for the stealthy creeping of the murderer, for the laying of the damned mine! You are all spies! You are all spies! You worst of all–you, my own son! Which of you is it who hides these bloody proclamations under my own pillow, or at the table where I sit? Which of ye all is the Judas who betrays me? O God! O God! methinks there was a time once, in our war with England, when nothing could make me afraid. [This with more calm and pathos.] I have ridden into the crimson heart of war, and borne back an eagle which those wild islanders had taken from us. Men said I was brave then. My father gave me the Iron Cross of Valour. Oh, could he see me now, with this coward’s livery ever in my cheek! [Sinks into his chair.] I never knew any love when I was a boy. I was ruled by terror myself, how else should I rule now? [Starts up.] But I will have revenge; I will have revenge. For every hour I have lain awake at night, waiting for the noose or the dagger, they shall pass years in Siberia, centuries in the mines! Ay! I shall have revenge. I am done with half measures. I shall crush these Nihilists at a blow. There shall not be a man of them, no, nor a woman either, left alive in Russia. Am I Emperor for nothing, that a woman should hold me at bay? Vera Sabouroff shall be in my power, I swear it, before a week is ended, though I burn my whole city to find her. She shall be flogged by the knout, stifled in the fortress, strangled in the square! For two years her hands have been clutching at my throat; for two years she has made my life a hell; but I shall have revenge.

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    Vera, Or The Nihilists – monologue from the play by Oscar Wilde Essay. (2018, Jan 04). Retrieved from

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